I STAGGER back, my head spinning, every nerve ending on fire as I take off running into the wheat.
The crops lash my arms. The night swallows me. No moon or stars to guide me, but I know these fields.
I listen for the sounds of them crashing through the wheat behind me, but they don’t come. I’m trying to concentrate on the air going in and out of my lungs, the relentless pounding of my heart, but my mind keeps going back to the breeding barn—nothing but blood, limbs, and pure black eyes. I don’t know what’s happening, but I have to pull myself together, for Ali’s sake. I have to be smart about this. I don’t want to get her in trouble, but I saw her bare chest … her naked body. I saw her crawl out of a dead cow, for Christ’s sake! I know Tyler put her up to this. He must be controlling her in some way. Whether it’s drugs or some kind of prank, she’s in way over her head. She needs help.
When I glimpse the light shining down from the equipment shed onto my truck, I know what I have to do. Same thing I did after I found my dad. I have to get Sheriff Ely. He and Dad were friends. He’s not part of the Preservation Society. He’ll have to hear me out this time.
I roll down the windows and listen closely as I ease down the drive toward Route 17. It’s eerily quiet, the same way it gets right before the weather turns. No insects scrabbling over the wheat, no wind rustling the crops. It’s like Mother Nature knows something’s coming. I can’t take my eyes off the wheat. I’m not even sure what I’m looking for … monsters.
*
THE STREETS are dead. Everything’s closed up. Even the Quick Trip’s dark, which means it’s past one in the morning.
I pull into Sheriff’s gravel driveway, in front of an old farmhouse about half a mile east of town, and lay on my horn until a light comes on upstairs. Mrs. Ely peeks through the lacy curtains, her hair all coiled up in those pink spongy curlers. I hear them bickering as the porch light flickers on. Positioning myself directly in front of his door, I wait. There’s a bug zapper right next to my head. The constant low hum along with the occasional electrocution isn’t helping my nerves.
“Clay?” Sheriff opens the door just a crack. “Greg Tilford’s on duty tonight.”
“No, not him.” My voice comes out shakier than I’d like. “I need to talk to you.”
He blinks up at me, the bags under his eyes dark and heavy. “You sleepwalking, son? Need me to call your ma, or Dr. Perry?”
“No, listen to me, it’s Ali. She’s out at the Neely ranch, and something bad happened to her.”
His thick gray eyebrows merge together. “The Neely ranch?”
“Please.” I look down at my boots for a moment before I meet his gaze again. “It’s important.”
“Come on in,” he says with a heavy sigh, his shoulders collapsing under his worn plaid flannel robe as he shuffles down the hall into the kitchen and turns on the light.
“Wait.” I take off after him. “We have to go. You have to come with me. You have to see what they’re doing out there.”
“They?” He settles himself in one of the oak chairs crowded around a small table. “I thought you said it was just Ali?”
“Ali and Tyler,” I say as I pace the linoleum. “But Jimmy, Tammy, and Ben are there, too.”
He shakes his head. “So this is about the Preservation Society again.”
“No, it’s not about that. Not really.”
The floorboards above me groan, making me flinch.
“Dear,” Sheriff calls. “As long as you’re up can you get Clay one of those calming teas?”
I crane my neck to see Mrs. Ely hovering at the top of the stairs, listening.
The wood buckles under her weight as she comes down the stairs. She glares at me as she crosses over to the sink; her face is all scrunched up like one of those fancy Persian cats.
“Let’s start from the beginning.” He pushes a chair out, motioning for me to sit. “What were you doing out at the Neely ranch? We talked about this. That’s trespassing.”
Reluctantly, I take a seat. “Today at school, I saw this mark on Ali’s neck. Tyler has the same mark on his wrist. And then Ali came over to my truck and told me to meet her out at the breeding barn at midnight.”
“Hogwash,” Mrs. Ely blurts. “Ali would never do such a thing. She’s a—”
“Dear,” Sheriff interrupts. “The tea.”
She purses her lips so tight you’d need a crowbar to pry her mouth open.
“Okay, Clay. Then what?”
“So, I ignored it, tried to put it out of my head, and when I got back to the combine, the calf was gone … just vanished.”
Sheriff’s eyes narrow. “Hold up. What’s this about a calf?”
“Crazy, just like his daddy,” Mrs. Ely mutters as she dunks a tea bag in a mug of microwaved water.
My jaw clenches. There’s a hundred things I want to say right now, but I hold my tongue.
“Why don’t you head up to bed, dear,” he says gently, but the vein pulsing in his temple gives him away.
She slams the mug down in front of me, sending steaming piss-colored water sloshing over the side.